


In Order to Live

by MelayneSeahawk



Series: Ineffable Wives Fics [6]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: (off-screen) - Freeform, Alternate Universe - Arabian Nights Fusion, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ancient World Setting, Arabian Nights Retelling, Biblical Allusions (Abrahamic Religions), Book Elements, Canon-Typical Violence, F/F, Female Aziraphale (Good Omens), Female Crowley (Good Omens), Folklore, Gift Exchange, Gift Fic, Ineffable Wives Exchange, Ineffable Wives | Female Aziraphale/Female Crowley (Good Omens), Minor Character Death, Non-Graphic Violence, Random references, Scheherazade Retelling, Show Elements, Spot The Reference, Storytelling, The Author Is Jewish And Back On Her Bullshit, biblical history, italics abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:53:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27299782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MelayneSeahawk/pseuds/MelayneSeahawk
Summary: God declares that there is to be a union between an angel and a demon, and Aziraphale and Crowley have to deal with the consequences.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Ineffable Wives Fics [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1543756
Comments: 12
Kudos: 26
Collections: Ineffable Wives Exchange 2020





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [seterasilence](https://archiveofourown.org/users/seterasilence/gifts).



> This is my Ineffable Wives Exchange fill for seterasilence, who requested "myths/legends retellings or incorporation, AUs are always fun", so here we are!
> 
> All of Crowley's stories are linked in the endnotes, for those who are interested.
> 
> Title is from the Joan Didion quote, "we tell ourselves stories in order to live", which I felt was too perfect not to use.
> 
> self-betaed, alpha by cumaeansibyl, typo check by Karissa

Once upon a time, after the universe had technically been created, but while everything was still a bit malleable, there was a War in Heaven. Not precisely a war with pitched battles and serried lines of soldiers stretching further than the eye can see, but not precisely  _ not _ that, either. After an unknowable amount of time, because time had not really been invented yet, one of the sides was victorious, casting the other out of Heaven and declaring themselves the true arbiters and followers of God’s Will. For lack of a better term, we shall call them ‘angels’.

The others, who, again, for lack of a better term, we will call ‘demons’, created a home of their own, a dark, twisted mirror of the shining City from which they had been banished. These two Cities, light and dark, existed on a metaphysical plane barely comprehensible to the human mind. And in the material world, trapped between them in more ways than one, and yet all but oblivious to their presence, were two animals that walked upright, in a Garden inside a Wall. These animals -- the source of the original conflict -- and their descendants would go on to do great and terrible and magnificent and incomprehensible things. But this story is not about them.

Now, the story of what happened  _ inside _ the Garden has been told a dozen dozen times, and retold and analyzed and picked apart a dozen dozen dozen more, so we shan’t be bothering with it, either. For it is what happened after, on that immaterial plane, containing the shining City and the dark one,  _ that _ is what we will concern ourselves with.

God did not involve Herself with the everyday goings-on of angels, even before the War. Mostly, She communicated Her desires through an angel called the Metatron, who was supposed to relay Her messages without commentary or embellishment, and then it was up to the highest ranks of angels to decide what to do with those orders. Not all angels truly believed that the Metatron was as impartial as they were supposed to be, and this was one of the many minor grievances that lead to the War.

After the War, after the Fall and the banishment, first of the demons and then of the humans, God did not speak to the Metatron for a long time, or at least the Metatron had no messages to deliver to the ranks of Heaven awaiting commands. And how were they to praise God if She was not present? What were they to do with these strange creatures called ‘humans’, who had knowledge of God and good and evil and their own Free Will, and yet some of their first acts were to destroy one another? What, in short, were their orders?

Finally, after many, many days, for there were days now, tracked by the cycles of the sun and divided into groups by the turning of the moon and movement of the planet itself through the cosmos, finally the Metatron came before the gathered processions of angels, and spoke. “GOD WANTS PEACE WITH THE DEMONS.”

There was an uproar, both an audible one and one that echoed along the less-material plane, and the Metatron held up a hand, or the impression of one, for silence. “TO REPRESENT PEACE AND UNITY BETWEEN HEAVEN AND HELL, GOD WANTS TO ARRANGE A UNION BETWEEN ONE OF HER MOST FAVORED ANGELS AND A DENIZEN OF HELL.”

That was met with murmurs, as the gathered angels argued about what that might mean. Humans created unions, to support the raising of children and the exchange of property. Certainly beings of energy like angels, and even like demons, were above such…carnal matters.

“IT IS DECIDED,” the Metatron said, though one or two angels, ones who had just barely survived being cast out the first time, wondered if these were God’s Words, or some plan by the Metatron themself. “THE ANGEL AZIRAPHALE, FAVORITE OF THE ALMIGHTY, WILL BE BOUND TO A DEMON OF HELL’S CHOOSING, TO REPRESENT THE PEACE BETWEEN OUR FACTIONS.”

Another wave of sound went through the assembled angels, and many looked around for the Principality in question. Was it an honor to be chosen, or a curse? Had God Herself actually chosen, or was this one of the Metatron’s  _ interpretations _ ? There was no way to know for sure.

And whatever the answers, the angel herself was nowhere to be seen.

***

Aziraphale, Cherub, Principality of Earth, former Guardian of the Eastern Gate, General in the War in Heaven, was actually on Earth, disguised as a lowly shepherdess and discussing grapes with a slightly besotted vintner. His distraction was understandable; the setting sun had caught in the angel’s pale curls and turned them a bright gold, and her eyes were alight with interest in the subject they were discussing. Aziraphale had found humans fascinating since she’d first seen Eve and Adam in the Garden, and all their discoveries and inventions (especially relating to food and drink) were such delightful little distractions from the sometimes stifling nature of Heaven and the day-to-day grind of being an Angel of the Lord. Aziraphale spent as much time on Earth as she could, justifying it by saying that she was just looking after God’s favorite creatures, and wasn’t it the responsibility of a Principality to look after the peoples to whom she was assigned?

(The fact that Principalities were supposed to be assigned to individual nations, and that Aziraphale tended to flit all over the entire world when she could was neither here nor there. Nor did it matter that she was really the only Principality that went about her duties with any sort of earnestness; the rest tended to prefer to observe, unseen, from on high. Aziraphale liked to get down into the thick of it, as it were. Certain angels felt she’d gone a little bit  _ native _ .)

Aziraphale felt an increase in celestial energy around her and ended her conversation with the vintner, wishing him well and taking her flock around the hill to move away from him. This sort of energy usually meant a message from Heaven was coming, and most angels didn’t bother to hide their true forms, which could hurt or even kill humans. Aziraphale settled into the curve of the hill, looked around to make sure there were no other humans around, and looked up. “Yes?” she said calmly.

A shrub nearby burst into flames, though its delicate, flowering branches did not scorch or burn, and Aziraphale resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Really, some of her siblings could be so  _ dramatic _ . “ _ Aziraphale _ ,” said a voice that was not quite audible sound, before rattling off Aziraphale’s many titles. Aziraphale crossed her arms and waited. “ _ You have been reassigned _ .”

“Reassigned!” Aziraphale repeated, incredulous, arms dropping and hands fisting at her sides. “For what cause? Is my work on Earth not acceptable?”

“ _ You have been chosen for a new task _ ,” the voice said, before explaining the whole business about creating a Union with the demons to foster peace.

A dozen protestations crossed her mind, but she realized none of them were going to be of any help, since they were unlikely to be taken seriously. “Let me just bring the sheep back to town, and I’ll be right up,” she said. The flames seemed to flicker in an almost judgmental way before going out, leaving the shrub unharmed. Aziraphale shook her head, muttering about policy decisions she’d had no hand in, and gently led the flock of sheep back to the nearest town, where she knew of a poor family who would benefit from a few extra members added to their flock, rather than returning the animals to the rich man to whom they only represented a fraction of his assets. (Sometimes miracles were nothing more than the strategic reallocation of resources, and required no magic at all.)

And if she just so happened to take her time doing so, she was sure no one in Heaven would notice.

***

Crowley (it had been Crawley, originally, but that hadn’t lasted long; too  _ squirming at your feet _ ish, she’d said to an uncaring but oddly attentive snake, when she’d been trying out new names) had heard about this whole Union with Heaven nonsense, and had made a point of steering well clear. Heaven couldn’t be trusted, and the leadership of Hell doubly-so, so Crowley knew nothing good could come of any of this. She stuck to her usual strategy for dealing with Hell: keep to the edges where she was largely unnoticed, make what excuses she could to get Earthside on whatever little job she could invent, co-opt, or create, and then stay as long as she could once she got up there. She had actually been on Earth when the Union was first announced in Hell, and so had only heard about it later.

The first demon Hell had sent had been a big, brawny fella from the Fifth Circle; Crowley supposed they were hoping the demon would overpower the angel and turn the Union to Hell’s advantage. The next day, a box had been sent back down to Hell, containing the oozing, stinking remains of the demon in question. That told Hell two things: that Heaven wasn’t playing around, and that any rejected demons would be outright  _ destroyed _ , not just discorporated so they could return to Hell with whatever secrets they might have gleaned while they were Up There.

The second demon was a Disposable Eric, Crowley guessed in the hopes that he would be inoffensive enough not to engage the wrath of whichever angel the Union was to be made with, and that if he were destroyed, it would be no great loss. He also only lasted a day, though from what Crowley heard, he hadn’t even merited sending back remains. Poor Erics, always getting the short end of the stick.

Crowley herself was a reasonably powerful demon, but she stayed out of the politics of Hell as much as she could. Lucifer himself had selected her for the Apple Job, and had been sufficiently pleased with her work that she hadn’t been assigned a specific job or circle once she’d returned to Hell, allowing her to be something of a free agent. It was what made it so easy for her to move back and forth between Hell and Earth. She spent most of her time in Hell lurking in the throne room (any demon who couldn’t lurk was basically doomed, but Crowley herself was pretty decent at it), which meant she was available when there was a need for someone to go to Earth. But with this whole Union thing? She did her best to fade into the  _ shadows _ of the shadows in the corners, torn between wanting to know what was going on and desperately wanting to be out of the way and overlooked, forgotten if possible.

The next demon Hell sent was a change in tactics again; it was clear Lucifer and the Dukes of Hell were trying to figure out an angle, and, in Crowley’s opinion, largely taking shots in the dark. They sent Phenex, a Grand Marquis, so perhaps less disrespectful than a low-ranking Disposable or a random Angry nobody. And Phenex was one of the weird ones; unlike most of the denizens of Hell, she regretted her Fall, hoping that one day the demons who had lost the War would be given a chance to repent and return. She was a diplomat and a poet, and had advised certain humans in their early explorations of the sciences.

At least, Crowley thought to herself, what was left of her came back in a  _ nice  _ box.

***

“You know, I actually liked her,” Aziraphale said softly after Phenex was destroyed, not that anyone was around to hear her. The whole Union situation had gone like this: Aziraphale would meet the new demon in a neutral plane, neither Heaven nor Hell nor Earth but connected to all three, in a room Aziraphale had herself filled with the creature comforts of Earth: soft places to sit, musical instruments to play, scrolls to read, and even fine food and drink, though Gabriel had turned his nose up at such ‘gross matter’ and Michael had worried that the objects could be used as weapons by a sufficiently wily demon. Aziraphale had pointed out that she was no slouch herself, and that if they were truly going to make her do this, she wanted to do it  _ her _ way, so they mostly left her alone. When she was in her own space, at least.

She and the demon would spend one night in that neutral space, and in the morning, without asking Aziraphale’s opinion at all, the archangels would find some flaw with the demon and destroy them, sending their remains down to Hell with what Aziraphale guessed were increasingly terse missives in a symbolic gesture about a subtle as as baked clay brick through a paper window.

Aziraphale, in her heart of hearts -- not that she  _ had _ a heart, per se -- didn’t think the archangels were terribly invested in making this work. She wasn’t entirely sure  _ why _ they were behaving this way, since they were acting on an order that came down from God, at least in theory. Maybe they didn’t trust the Metatron? It was hard to tell. Either way, she was doing her best: she’d refused to fight with the Wrath demon; she’d spent most of the night comforting Eric, who had been both afraid and resigned to his sacrifice and likely upcoming destruction. Phenex had actually been rather interesting to talk to, almost like some of the human philosophers Aziraphale had taken to spending time with, but it hadn’t seemed to matter to Gabriel and the other archangels.

The next night, sundown brought another demon, this one arriving on a camel, their androgynous body swathed in veils, a horned crown on their head. Aziraphale watched apprehensively as the camel disappeared when they dismounted, and the demon sashayed toward her.

“I am Gremory,” the demon said, voice musical and lovely. “A Duke of Hell and demon of Lust.”

“L--lust!” Aziraphale stuttered, scurrying away from the demon to place a reclining couch between them.

“Yes,” the demon said, stalking closer. They really were quite lovely, if one was into that sort of thing. “The Lords of Hell wondered if perhaps you were interested in partaking in...the joys of the flesh, and found my predecessors unsatisfactory in that respect.” The demon rounded the couch and reached out to catch a lock of Aziraphale’s hair between their fingers. “I certainly wouldn’t have blamed you for finding them less than appealing.”

“No, thank you!” Aziraphale squeaked and took off, scurrying for the other side of the room, where there happened to be a bed, decked with thick curtains and soft sheets. Why was there even a bed here? Aziraphale never slept, and she certainly didn’t do...other things that might require one.

Gremory pouted, but didn’t follow Aziraphale. “Don’t you find me attractive?” they asked, running soft-looking hands over their body, causing the layers of veils to shift and reveal enticing slivers of skin. 

“I--I’m an angel, I’m not made that way,” Aziraphale said, clinging to the side of the bedpost.

Gremory took a step forward, then stopped when Aziraphale clearly flinched back. “I’m not sure that’s true, my sweet, but I shan’t press,” they said. “I’m a demon of consensual Lust, not rape, you know.” They sat on the couch, crossing their legs primly, twitching the fabric over their knee so it fell in the most complimentary manner, revealing a long span of toned brown ankle and calf. “You can come here, sweetling, I won’t hurt you.”

“I think I’ll stay over here, thank you,” Aziraphale said, though she at least stopped digging her fingers into the bedpost. Her hands had left dents in the wood, which she winced at before dismissing them with a tiny wave. They stayed, staring at each other, until dawn, and Gremory was taken away.

***

“Well, that wazzz a waste,” Crowley heard Lord Beelzebub say when she snuck into the throne room. “Gremory wazzz one of our best tempterzzz.” The rest of the Dark Council nodded, various expressions of anger, disappointment, and dismay on their faces -- well, on those whose faces were human enough to have easily-interpreted expressions.

_ Huh _ , Crowley thought to herself, as she hid in one of the furthest tiers of the  _ cavea _ , still in the room so she could eavesdrop but hopefully outside the notice of the Lords and Dukes below. Lucifer sat at one end of the long table, seemingly ignoring the proceedings entirely, examining his perfect nails. The Council argued amongst themselves, not seeming to come to a decision, until Lucifer cleared his throat, and the whole room went silent as, well, a grave.

“Crowley?” he called, and she winced. “I thought I saw you slithering around back there. Come down here.”

Unwilling to actually risk the consequences of disobeying Satan himself, and unable to see a way around such a direct order, Crowley made her way down through the  _ cavea _ to the pit below; the room was laid out like an amphitheatre, because it was sometimes used as one. “Yes, my Lord,” she said, with a flourishing bow. She saw Hastur roll his eyes but ignored him. Crowley knew she wasn’t popular with many of the Dukes and Lords of Hell, due to her place largely outside the hierarchy of Hell, but Beelzebub and Dagon tolerated her, many of the lesser demons feared her, and Lucifer actually seemed to like her, so she got by.

“What do you think of the whole situation?” Lucifer asked, leaning back in his throne and tapping his fingers on the armrest.

“Well, what do we know about the angel in question?” Crowley asked, mind working. “They weren’t intimidated by a Wrath demon, they were probably insulted by sending an Eric, and they didn’t seem moved by Phenex’s diplomacy or Gremory’s seduction.” Which was a little sad, actually; Phenex was fun to cheat at cards with, and Gremory mixed a killer pomegranate martini. “Do we know who the angel is? Or any other communication from Heaven about what they’re looking for?”

“We’ve had no communication with the angel at all,” Dagon said, teeth and scales glimmering in the low light. “We don’t even know which one it is. We don’t  _ think _ it’s an archangel, but beyond that…” she trailed off with a shrug.

“Why not send Crawley?” Ligur suggested, and Crowley tried not to let her horror show on her face. Ligur didn’t like her either, and sending her Up There was a good way for him to get rid of her for good without getting his hands any dirtier than they already were. Demons had very few rules between themselves, but they didn’t go around  _ destroying _ each other; that would just be rude.

“That sounds like a great idea,” Hastur chimed in, and that wasn’t a surprise either; he and Ligur were generally thick as thieves. “We know she prides herself on thinking on her feet. When she has them,” he added, and a few of the assembled demons chuckled meanly, and Crowley hissed despite herself.

Crowley frantically tried to think of an excuse to keep from being sacrificed next, but drew a blank. She didn’t have any long-term projects going on Earth right now, and her normally agile brain was mostly screaming, rather than coming up with a lie she could tell instead. She looked around the table of assembled Lords, but it didn’t look like there was anyone in her corner. “Sssure,” she said, a little nervous hiss coming out into her voice. “I can give it a try.”

“Capital!” Lucifer said, clapping his hands and leaping from his chair. “Good luck, Serpent.” Crowley smiled wanly and watched as the assembled demons cleared the room, some ignoring her, some giving her pitying looks, a few looking downright gleeful at her assumed failure. She tried not to let it show on her face, but in her mind was a refrain of  _ fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck _ .

***

Aziraphale wasn’t sure what to expect when the next demon arrived. Next  _ victim _ , she thought uncharitably; the archangels hadn’t listened to her at  _ all _ when she’d tried to have Phenex and Gremory sent back down to Hell. The archangels argued that this meant one fewer demon to tempt humans, but Aziraphale wasn’t so sure; it was  _ Heaven’s _ idea to engage in what Aziraphale was realizing was a farce, and demons weren’t inherently  _ evil _ , precisely. After all, what was the point of Free Will if it wasn’t tested…

Aziraphale dithered around the room as she waited for sundown, and the arrival of the new demon. She rearranged some of the scrolls, losing a few hours to reading an interesting one on some medicinal plants with some lovely diagrams. She nibbled at the dates and dried apricots laid out on the banquet table, but for once even she wasn’t interested in food. She fiddled with the many cushions and drapes around the room, before eventually tossing herself down into a nest of softness to think.

Was there any way she could help whatever demon was sent to her next? It was pretty clear now that the archangels would find some fault with whatever demon was chosen, over and over again. Aziraphale didn’t really want to spend eternity tied to a demon, but weren’t demons God’s creatures, too? Didn’t they deserve a chance to exist in peace? And Aziraphale had been given a job -- to form an alliance that would prevent another War -- and, lies about flaming swords aside, Aziraphale took her responsibilities very seriously.

Besides, maybe if they actually let her bind herself to one of the demons Hell sent, she could get out of this dam--dreadfully boring room and back down to Earth. Who knew what interesting things she had missed while she was stuck up here, playing reluctant bridegroom?

Aziraphale felt the sun go down in her celestial senses, and braced herself for whatever would come next. Would Hell get fed up and send a demon intended to destroy her -- they would have a fight on their hands if they did, sword or no -- or another disposable demon since it was clear Heaven wasn’t taking this seriously? Maybe a torturer from one of the deeper circles intended to make the night miserable to punish her for Heaven not playing fair?

One minute Aziraphale was alone, and then next the demon was there, slim and female in shape, veiled and draped in black. Another lust demon, like Gremory, Aziraphale wondered. Then the demon tossed back the veil, revealing fire-red curls and a familiar, angular face. “Crawley?!”

***

“Mm, it’s Crowley now, actually,” she said, feeling as shocked as the angel looked. “And you’re Aziraphale, right? Guardian of the Eastern Gate? No wonder none of the others have come back. Have you been destroying them all yourself?”

“Hardly!” Aziraphale said, and she seemed almost offended. “I’ve had no part in that.” Crowley’s deep gold eyes bored into her, despite being half hidden by strange, smoked glass lenses. “Every morning, they take the demon away and destroy them. They don’t ask my opinion at all.”

“Have you liked any of the demons they’ve sent?” Crowley said, gracefully seating herself on a reclining couch as far from Aziraphale as it was possible to get while still being in the room. She remembered this angel, remembered her giving away her sword at Eden, but her reputation since had been ruthless. No wonder Heaven had chosen her to be their half of this Union for peace; she would protect Heaven's interests against all comers.

“The first they sent was a brute, wouldn’t even tell me his name,” Aziraphale said. “And the second was too terrified to even speak. But I liked Marquis Phenex, she seemed interesting to talk to. And Duke Gremory seemed nice enough, if a little forward.” Crowley fought to hide her frown at their loss, as well as a chuckle at describing Gremory as  _ forward _ .

“Well, I thought you were a warrior, but if Gremory was a bit much for you, I’m guessing you haven’t been engaging in carnal behaviors to kill the time?” Crowley asked, considering it a personal triumph when the angel blushed red as a stormy sunrise. “Are you more of an intellectual angel, then?”

Aziraphale made an adorable harrumphing sound, and Crowley remembered other interactions they’d had since the fall of Eden. She’d been there when the ark launched, now that Crowley recalled, saying some nonsense about  _ not being consulted about policy decisions _ . But she hadn’t stopped Crowley from hiding a good dozen children in nooks and crannies in the bowels of the ship (and if they weren’t meant to be used that way, why else were they there? hadn’t the plans for the ark come from God Herself?), and she’d even caught the angel filling the hold with lullabies on more than one storm-tossed night. Perhaps there was more to this angel than met the eye.

“Do you like stories?” Crowley asked suddenly, inspiration striking, and the angel’s eyes positively lit up, going from a slightly stormy grey to a cloudless blue. “Well, I heard a story in Zhongguo about Lu-San, a fisherman’s daughter who became a goddess.”

Aziraphale loved stories, loved sitting around human campfires and trading tales, loved the ones that were shared one voice to another and the ones that had been recorded in scrolls and codices and books. But she had spent very little time in the Far East and did not know this story.

“Oh, do tell me the story,” she said, shifting in her pile of cushions to face Crowley, face alight with interest.

“Well,” Crowley said, settling in. “Once there was a poor, young girl named Lu-San, who lived on her family’s houseboat, with her hateful father and mother, and her many, many brothers…”

***

Aziraphale was not aware of the passage of time as Crowley continued her story, embellishing how the endangered Lu-San fled from the family who would sell her into slavery to the lands beyond the houseboats. She gasped aloud when Lu-San offered the soapstone figurine, her only possession, to the kind woman she met when she was lost in the unknown lands along the river. She cried out in fear when Lu-San, after her terrible, long journey, awoke back in her family’s houseboat, as if she’d never left.

“But what happens next?” Aziraphale pressed, when Crowley paused to take a sip of the wine Aziraphale had brought her sometime during the night.

Crowley opened her mouth, then looked past Aziraphale’s shoulder to where the rising sun was clearly visible outside their room. “I would tell you, but it looks like my time is up, angel.”

“Up?!” Aziraphale asked incredulously. Crowley stood, straightening her robes, as if she wanted to be taken away with dignity, and Aziraphale’s heart ached for her. “It is no such thing. No!” she said, to the two Thrones who had come to drag Crowley away, like every other morning since this farce had begun. “Leave her alone. I will speak to the archangels right away.”

The two Thrones looked at each other, not used to being spoken to by any angels lower than the most high, or to having to think for themselves. “You will come with us, then,” one of them said at last, as the other reached for Crowley’s arm. “You can speak to them in the Great Chamber.” The other grabbed Crowley’s other arm, and the four of them marched to the Great Chamber in the center of the Silver City, Aziraphale alight with a righteous glow she hadn’t let loose in years.

“Another unacceptable offering,” the archangel Gabriel said, almost lazily, when Crowley was brought into the room. Then he seemed to realize that Aziraphale was present and stared at her. “Principality Aziraphale, why are you here? This is no business of yours.”

“It is every bit my business,” Aziraphale said heatedly, a few of her extra eyes opening on the celestial plane, invisible wings flexing. “I am the one to whom the demon is to be tied, yes? And I think this demon is…interesting, worth another night of contemplation, at least. You can always kill her tomorrow,” she added as a concession, though she had no intention of letting the archangels kill Crowley anytime soon, not if she had anything to say about it.

She held very still while she waited for the archangels to discuss amongst themselves. Sandalphon was always a bloodthirsty one, and wanted all demons and even some humans to be destroyed on sight; he hadn’t even wanted to let Aziraphale meet them at all. Uriel and Michael were more interested in following God’s decrees; the latter more strategic, the former more cautious. Finally, Gabriel turned back and said, “Fine, we will let this demon live another day. She will be locked away where she can’t cause trouble, and then brought back to you at sunset.” He stared at Aziraphale, purple eyes like lasers (not that lasers had been invented yet). “Remember, your duty is to form a Union to prevent another War. Don’t get distracted, Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale thanked the archangels profusely, watching Crowley be taken away out of the corner of her eye, and then fled the archangels’ harsh stares as soon as she could.

***

Crowley spent the day in a small, bare room, the light so bright she was glad for the new-fangled dark lenses that covered her eyes. She had no sense of the passage of time, but she assumed it had been a full day when a different set of Thrones -- only noticeably different because of the color of their hair and skin, and the patterns of their angelic markings -- came to get her, half-carrying, half-dragging her to the room where Aziraphale was waiting.

Aziraphale had laid out a sumptuous spread of food and drink on one of the low tables, and was reclining along one side, though she sat up straight and attentive when Crowley arrived. “You can go,” she said to the Thrones, aiming for haughty and missing, but it was close enough that they were quickly left alone. “Come, join me,” she said to Crowley, leaning back and gesturing at the spread, which had foods from all over the world, and drinks besides. “Do you eat? Drink? I know we don’t have to, but humans are so creative with their cooking.”

Crowley wasn’t much of an eater, was more of a drink person herself, but she didn’t want to offend the one other being invested in keeping her alive at least a little longer, so she settled herself in a a mound of cushions across from Aziraphale and reached for a jug of what turned out to be a red wine. Perfect. “Now, where was I?”

Crowley finished the story, timing it carefully so that the night was only half-done when Lu-San ascended unto the heavens to sit as Quan-Yin’s side forever for her kindness and generosity. “Oh, that was a beautiful story,” Aziraphale said, wiping her eyes on a summoned bit of cloth. “That the gods recognized her goodness, even if the humans did not.”

“I would have thought that an Angel of the Lord would frown upon talk of other gods,” Crowley said, helping herself to a carefully-selected olive and popping it into her mouth.

Aziraphale shook her head. “All acts of goodness and kindness are Good in Her eyes, even if done to honor a false deity.” She frowned a little. “Virtuous pagans are spared the tortures of Hell, are they not?”

“In a manner of speaking,” Crowley said. She didn’t think it was fair, personally, that humans had to be Good and Righteous and Resist Temptation their whole lives,  _ plus _ they had to guess right on the whole deity roulette. There were more gods and goddesses and Great Powers out there every day; how on Earth was a human to choose the right one? “Still, not my problem,” she said, more flippantly than she felt. “I just tempt them, they do the hard part themselves.”

They were silent for a moment, while Crowley picked among the olives again and Aziraphale slowly shredded a flatbread into crumbs. “What else shall we do until sun-up?” the angel asked finally, staring out the still-darkened windows, where a few stars could be seen.

“I could tell you another story,” Crowley offered, not even needing to Tempt the angel to get her to agree. “This one’s from India.”

“Ooh, they do some fascinating things with irrigation there,” Aziraphale said. “And spices. Tell me.”

***

“This one is about a poor farmer who discovered a great snake living in an anthill on the edge of his land,” Crowley began, and Aziraphale smiled to remember Crowley’s snake form, onyx and ruby and terribly lovely in the last of the light over Eden, even if she should have been angry that the serpent had caused Eve and Adam’s banishment. “And so the farmer brought a bowl of milk to the anthill, in the hopes that this snake was a guardian who would bless his fields.”

Aziraphale listened to the ebb and flow of Crowley’s voice, only half-listening to the story itself, watching the demon’s animated features. She remembered idly all the times they had met since Eden, few and far between but still many when there were more than three thousand years in question. Aziraphale had always felt drawn to Crowley, for whatever reason, and getting to spend time with her like this was a ble--well, a nice thing, whatever the reason.

“And so the farmer’s son raised up the cudgel to strike the great snake on the head, so he could kill it and take all its hidden gold,” Crowley said, and Aziraphale sat up quickly, gripping the edge of the table between them.

“And then what happened?” Aziraphale said, staring at Crowley’s face.

“And then the sun came up, and the demon Crowley was dragged to her death,” Crowley said with a sardonic smile, and right on cue the Thrones came to take her away.

“Foul fiend,” Aziraphale whispered under her breath, but Crowley’s widening smile said she’d heard. “Tell the archangels I will not have her killed today, either!” she said to the Thrones, who looked between each other in confusion. “Take her to the cell you kept her yesterday, or leave her here, it matters not, but she is not to be harmed!”

The Thrones conferred between each other quietly, then turned back to the angel and demon, grabbing Crowley anyway, who went with as much dignity as she was allowed. “You’d best come with us, then,” one of the Thrones said, sighing, and Aziraphale did, setting a pace so quick as she traversed the halls of the Silver City that the Thrones (and Crowley) had to hurry to keep up.

“Again?” Gabriel asked, when Aziraphale preceded Crowley and the Thrones into the room. “Aziraphale, just let the demon be destroyed and be done with it.”

“No, I still have more to learn about her, from her,” Aziraphale said.

Gabriel looked among the assembled archangels, and shrugged. “Fine. Take her away.”

Aziraphale watched as Crowley was dragged away to her daytime cell, and wondered if there was a way to keep the demon with her permanently.


	2. Part Two

“‘The grief and pain and loss between us is too great,’ said the serpent,” Crowley said, finishing the story from the night before. “‘How can we ever have peace between us?’ And he gifted the farmer, who had grown rich but not wise, a flawless pearl, and disappeared.”

“That sounds a little like Heaven and Hell,” Aziraphale said. “So much bad blood, as the humans would say. How can there ever be peace?”   
  
“But who is the farmer, and who is the serpent?” Crowley asked, glancing at Aziraphale over her glasses. Aziraphale opened her mouth to answer, then shut it, clearly thinking hard. “It is not that there is no uninjured party here, just that one side has been forced to turn the other cheek.”

“Perhaps you’re right,” Aziraphale said, and Crowley was surprised that she acquiesced. Aziraphale was a much more thoughtful angel than Crowley had ever met before, though to be fair most of her interactions after the War had been weapons first, questions later (if ever). Even when she had still been an angel, she had been a relatively lowly one, just a starmaker following the Almighty’s plans, and archangels and Cherubim and even Principalities had had no time for her. But Aziraphale was different, beyond just the thing with the flaming sword.

“I have another story, if you’d like it,” Crowley offered, and Aziraphale lit up brightly.

“I would always love to hear another of your stories,” Aziraphale said, and there was something in the warmth of her smile that made an answering warmth flicker in Crowley’s belly. “Tell me.”

“This is a story about a trickster, Anansi, who is from West Africa,” Crowley said. “He didn’t want to share his yams with Turtle, but the rules of hospitality said that he must.”

Aziraphale’s smile was soft and open as Crowley told the story, and Crowley tried to ignore the way it made her want to curl up in Aziraphale’s lap, feel that full body laugh against her chest, find out if those corn silk curls were as soft as they looked. It was a good thing she was a good multitasker, but even so she almost lost the thread of the story multiple times during the night, and Aziraphale had to remind her. “But then Anansi ate up all the yams, didn’t he?” and Crowley agreed that he had.

She ended the story just as Anansi had his bright idea to fill his dinner jacket with stones, so he could sink down to Turtle’s dinner table at the bottom of the creek, a good place to stop so she could continue the story the next day. For a third time, the Thrones came to get her, and for a third time, she allowed them to drag her away as Aziraphale stomped along beside them. It was nerve-wracking, but it was almost beginning to be familiar.

Crowley zoned out some while Aziraphale argued for her life, more out of self-defense than sense. But something was different this time, something in the postures of the archangels, so Crowley forced herself to pay attention.

“This demon is valuable,” Aziraphale was saying, voice sounding stronger than her posture indicated, but Crowley wasn’t sure the archangels knew her well enough to tell. “She has studied human emotion and thought, and is an expert in their expression of Free Will. Surely she would be an asset to Heaven, as the other half of the Union God Herself has requested?” she added with emphasis.

Michael, who Crowley had always remembered as something of a schemer, smirked, and Gabriel looked taken aback. The archangels convened again, speaking quietly, and when Crowley glanced over at Aziraphale, the angel had the audacity to  _ wink _ at her. Positively ridiculous. (And kind of cute.)

“Fine, fine,” Gabriel said finally, after what felt like an eon of debating. “You can keep your little....pet, as long as you find her useful. But once she has no more to teach you, we’ll destroy her just like the others.”

Crowley gulped, but Aziraphale looked overjoyed, and Crowley guessed it was a win. At least they wouldn’t have to do this farce every morning. “And you’ll let her stay with me during the day?” Aziraphale asked quickly, as the archangels turned away to leave. “I’ll learn so much more if we’re not interrupted all the time.”

“Whatever,” Gabriel said, waving his hand. “Do what you like. You always were too soft.” Aziraphale frowned, clearly hurt, but Crowley was overjoyed not to have to go to that overly-bright room again.

She barely noticed as the Thrones dragged her back to the lushly-decorated Union room and all but tossed her into a pile of pillows. “I guess you’d like me to finish my story now,” she said, watching Aziraphale as she seated herself more carefully and delicately picked up a honeyed pastry, examining it but not taking a bite. As beautiful as she was by lamplight, the sunlight made her positively glow, though Crowley pushed those thoughts down.

“I assumed you’d want to rest,” Aziraphale said, putting down the pastry untouched.

“I mean, I  _ would _ like that,” Crowley said, who was a demon who was well-acquainted with sleep and liked it very much, and had found it impossible in the too-bright room she’d been imprisoned in. “Are you alright?”

Aziraphale waved a dismissive hand, but didn’t actually answer. “The other angels aren’t always kind to me. Don’t let it bother you.” Aziraphale stood, brushing invisible wrinkles out of her robes. “There’s a bed behind those curtains,” she said, gesturing. “Rest as long as you like, I’ll wake you at sundown.”

“What will you do?” Crowley asked, curious, though she stood anyway.

“Oh, I have my food, and my scrolls,” she said, gesturing to a library’s worth of tomes in cubbies along one wall. She shot Crowley a sly glance. “What do you think I did when you were locked in that cell, or while I waited for the others?”

“True, true,” Crowley said, making her way to the bed, changing her draped, layered robe for a simpler, shorter sleeping tunic as she went. She thought she heard Aziraphale’s breath catch behind her, but when she looked back, the angel was examining the cubby shelves. “Have a good day, angel.”

“Sleep well, demon,” Aziraphale said softly, but somehow the word that should have been an epithet sounded almost like an endearment.

***

Despite knowing that Crowley was safe, Aziraphale still fretted, unable to settle on one thing during the day while the demon slept. She flitted from banquet table to scroll to window to couch, unable to concentrate on any task for more than a few moments. It was like she  _ knew _ Crowley was there, sleeping behind drawn curtains in the bed Aziraphale had never touched. Which was foolish -- of  _ course _ she knew Crowley was there, she’d asked for her to be there -- but it was like Crowley was a constant in her awareness, not just as a bit of demonic energy in all that angelic light, but as something more.

Aziraphale found herself standing next to the bed as the sun went down, hesitant to open the curtain and wake the sleeping demon. What would she look like in repose, pale skin bared by her short sleeping tunic, firelight hair scattered across the pillow? Aziraphale almost didn’t want to open the curtain to see, but she needed to wake the demon so they could get back to work, in case an archangel sent someone to check on them. She couldn’t imagine what would happen if they were caught slacking. Crowley’s destruction might be the  _ least _ of it.

Aziraphale tossed the curtain open before she could second-guess herself again, letting the light of the setting sun into the shadowed space. Crowley was just as lovely as she’d feared: angular face smoothed in sleep, pale fingers curled delicately next to her cheek. Rather than the usual Heavenly white and cream and taupe, the bed’s linens were jewel tones, emeralds and rubies and sapphires, and Crowley looked like the most beautiful treasure among them, all elegant lines and sharp contrasts of color.

Aziraphale wondered how her vermilion lips would taste.

She must have made a noise, because Crowley stirred, turning over and opening her eyes. “Mm, evenin’, angel,” Crowley said, gold eyes blinking slowly as she woke. “Sssundown already?”

“Yes,” Aziraphale said tersely, dropping her death-grip on the curtain and stepping away. “Please, let us get back to work.”

Without the smoked glass to hide them, Crowley’s eyes betrayed confusion, but Aziraphale chalked that up to her still waking up. “Whatever you say, angel,” she said softly. “Here, pour me some of that  _ mulsum _ , and I’ll be with you in just a mo.”

Aziraphale nodded, unsure what had gotten into her, and fled to the banquet table.

***

Days and days went on like this: storytelling at night, resting separately during the day. Both angel and demon felt themselves drawn ever closer to the other, but what could they do? Eventually the archangels would no longer accept their excuse, and Crowley’s existence would be ended, and Aziraphale would once again be alone. For no matter how much time she spent among the other angels, or with humans on Earth, or even with the demons who had been brought to be tested for the Union, Aziraphale had always felt alone. Except with Crowley.

Aziraphale lost track of the days they spent this way, charting them only in stories as Crowley bounced all over the world: this tale from the mountains of the Andes, this from the islands in the South Pacific, that from the frigid north up by the Arctic Circle, another from the desert that spanned the Asian continent. Crowley had been everywhere it seemed, causing trouble, perhaps, but also  _ listening, _ taking in human culture like a puff of raw cotton absorbing spilled oil. Aziraphale had mostly stuck to where Heaven had sent her, which meant the Fertile Crescent, Egypt, and north of the Sahara, only just now into southern Europe to interact with the Etruscans and Greeks and Romans. Crowley’s stories were fascinating, not just the stories themselves, but the asides, tales of little human moments interspersed with the narratives they told themselves, the odes they created to keep back the dark.

And Crowley herself was a marvel, now that she seemed less afraid for her very existence. She moved like nothing Aziraphale had ever seen: flowed like water as she moved her hands while speaking, danced like flame when a story compelled her to her feet. She was awkward sometimes, too, when she got too close to mentioning a Temptation or some other work she’d done for Hell, but despite knowing she should be appalled, Aziraphale wanted to hear it all. She wanted to know everything about Crowley, her likes and dislikes, her favorite music and least favorite foods, all her silly opinions and big thoughts.

Distantly, Aziraphale wondered if this was what human love felt like.

***

Crowley, herself, was terribly aware of the passage of time. As if leaving little hashes on the wall, she could practically picture the row of marks on the inside of her skull, marking the number of days she’d been here, the number of stories she’d told. Seven hundred, eight hundred, nine hundred, and she was starting to run out of ideas, knowing she wasn’t a good enough storyteller to create new tales of her own. She knew she could offer to go out into the world and collect new stories, knowing humans were coming up with new ideas all the time, but she doubted the archangels would go for it.

At the same time, if you’d told her the thoughts that had been going through the angel’s head, she would have laughed and called you a liar. A little bit of her had fallen in love with Aziraphale that very first day, when the angel had sacrificed her own place in Heaven, her own  _ Grace _ , to give those foolish hairless apes a bit of warmth and comfort on a cold, wet night. She’d tried to keep her heart hardened when they’d met again over the years ( _ I’m not consulted about policy decisions _ had made it easy), but now, spending day after day telling stories and just spending time together? Crowley was well and truly in love, and all the more damned for it.

It was perhaps some dark irony that Crowley finished her last story halfway through the one thousand and first night, while the sky was still full of the stars that Crowley had helped create, when the dawn was just an idea that had not yet come to fruition. Crowley ended her last story, then closed her mouth, crossing her hands in her lap.

“What’s wrong, darling?” Aziraphale asked, an endearment she’d started using some five hundred and twelve days ago. She reached a hand across the banquet table, but stopped short of actually touching Crowley.  _ Huh _ , Crowley thought distantly; in a thousand and one nights, they’d never once touched.

“I think I’ve run out, angel,” Crowley said, choking a little on her words, throat dry as the desert outside of Eden. She reached forward to pour herself a glass of wine, almost fumbling the carafe. Aziraphale took the pitcher and cup from her, poured her a measure without spilling, and put the cup where she could reach.

“What do you mean, ‘run out’?” Aziraphale asked, as Crowley gulped down the wine like it was the only thing in the world that would save her.

“I mean, I’ve run out of stories,” Crowley said, putting down the cup a little harder than intended, so it slammed and spun on its base, tipping over and spilling a last few drops on the table. “I have no more tales to tell. This serpent’s tongue has run dry.”

Crowley watched distantly as Aziraphale started to...was that panic in her face? Why? Why would Aziraphale care about Crowley’s continued existence, except as a form of entertainment, and perhaps protection from other, less personable demons Hell might send? “Maybe we just don’t tell anyone,” she was saying, twisting the gold ring she wore on her littlest finger. “Maybe we lie!”

“Angel, it’s alright,” Crowley said, and for the first time reached out and placed a hand over Aziraphale’s fidgeting ones. Distantly, she noticed that the angel’s hands were very warm, and very soft. “I knew I was on borrowed time as soon as I got sent up here. I’ve had plenty more time than any of the others did, didn’t I?”

“But it’s not  _ fair _ ,” Aziraphale said, almost a wail, and Crowley was distantly reminded of the lamentations of the surviving angels at the end of the War, when demons like Crowley were still dragging themselves out of the sulfur pits of Hell and trying to decide what came next. It was a strange thought, and she didn’t like it.

“Life’s not fair, angel,” Crowley said softly. “Anyone who says otherwise is trying to sell you something.” She squeezed Aziraphale’s hands under her own and sat back, unsure what to do with herself. “In the morning, we’ll summon the Thrones to take us to the archangels, and you’ll tell them you’ve gotten what you could from me.”

“But I haven’t,” Aziraphale said, with a fierceness that made Crowley look up in surprise. It was the voice of the warrior angel she knew Aziraphale had been before she’d been given the job guarding the Gate. It was the voice of… “I want to spend the rest of my existence with you,” Aziraphale continued lowly, like if she spoke too loud, an archangel might hear. “I want to get out of this bloody room and explore the world with you. I want to  _ share _ stories with you, not just have you know them all. I want…I don’t even know the words for what I want, Crowley, but I  _ want _ it. With you.”

“You love me,” Crowley said incredulously. “That’s what love feels like, angel.” And before Aziraphale could protest or pull away, she added, “And I love you, too.”

Aziraphale blinked, Crowley’s words effectively keeping her from running. “But how is that possible?”

Crowley shrugged. “Maybe a thousand and one nights of stories will do that,” she said.

“It’s been that long?” Aziraphale asked softly, and Crowley nodded. “Oh, Crowley,” she said, and Crowley swallowed. “What do beings do when they’re in love?”

Part of Crowley wanted to leer, but this was too serious. “Sometimes they run away together, but I don’t think that’s an option,” she said with a wry smile, one that Aziraphale matched.

“Wait,” the angel said, pressing her hands to the table. “What about the Union? Wasn’t the whole point of it to end the conflict between Heaven and Hell?”

“You know the archangels aren’t taking it seriously, though,” Crowley said. “Hell barely is either.”

“What if we force them to?” Aziraphale said, and Crowley loved watching her mind work, could practically see it behind her stormcloud eyes.

“What, exactly, did you have in mind?”

***

Dawn broke through the windows at the expected time, peach and pink and lovely, and Aziraphale and Crowley waited to see what would happen, whether the archangels would somehow  _ know _ that Crowley was out of stories, or that something between them had changed, and send Thrones to retrieve her, like with all the demons before. They sat together on one of the couches, hands clasped together, as dawn became full day, and still no one came.

“It looks like they’re not watching us that closely,” Aziraphale said finally, squeezing Crowley’s slender fingers where they were tangled up with her own. “We could wait, see how long it takes for them to notice something’s different.”

Crowley considered it for a moment, but the idea of being able to leave this room was compelling. She wanted to travel the world with Aziraphale, show her all the places from her stories, explore all the places they each knew  _ together _ . She wanted them both to be  _ free _ .

“No, let’s get this over with,” she said, standing and using their joined hands to pull Aziraphale to her feet. “Do you think they’ll come to us if we go to that room we’ve met with them before?”

“Probably,” Aziraphale said. She let go of Crowley’s hands to straighten her robes and hair, and Crowley tried not to mourn the loss, gratified when Aziraphale immediately took her hand again when she was done. “Let’s go.”

Crowley trailed Aziraphale through the halls of Heaven as the angel led her toward the Great Chamber again, actually looking around a bit this time. Her memories from before the Fall were patchy at best (and part of her wondered if she’d known Aziraphale when she was still an angel, and if they’d been friends), but none of it looked familiar. There were actually angels in the halls this time, and many stared openly as they passed. Crowley tried to put on a sneer, but she suspected that at least some of her nervousness showed through. Aziraphale said she was pretty sure their plan would work, and Crowley was trying to put on a brave face, but she knew there wasn’t much either of them could do against a single archangel, much less all of them, assembled and angry with them.

Too soon, they reached the Great Chamber. Aziraphale glanced at Crowley, smiled slightly, and then stepped inside, pulling Crowley after her. The room was empty, but a deep, bell-like tone chimed through the air as they crossed the threshold, and when Crowley glanced back, she realized the doorway they’d come through had disappeared. “I guess there’s no changing our minds, huh?” she said quietly, and Aziraphale squeezed her fingers, eyes not moving from the upper balcony where the archangels had stood the other times they’d been here.

Crowley wasn’t sure how long they waited before there was a rustling sound above them and the archangels filed into the room, taking their places and looking down on Crowley and Aziraphale, expressions ranging from blank (Uriel) and mildly curious (Michael) to openly hostile (Sandalphon) to Gabriel’s usual affable-but-clearly-hiding-something grin. Distantly, Crowley wondered where Raphael was, but her focus quickly snapped back when Gabriel spoke. “Done already?” he asked, an edge coming into his voice despite his smile. “I guess this demon was less useful than you thought, Aziraphale.”

“On the contrary,” Aziraphale said, and if Crowley hadn’t felt her tension where their hands were joined, she would have had no idea that Aziraphale wasn’t perfectly calm. “Crowley has taught me so much about humanity in our time together.” She took an unnecessary breath, and added, “So much so that I think it’s only sensible that she be the demon to join me in the Union God has called for.”

There was a clamor of noise from the assembled archangels, before Gabriel raised a hand to quiet them. “Aziraphale, that’s not for you to decide,” he said. “You’re just a Principality, and this affects all of Heaven.”

“On the contrary,” Aziraphale said. “As the angel who’s part of this Union, shouldn’t I have final say? The Metatron didn’t say that the archangels would be the ones to decide.”

“Nor did the Metatron say it was for you to decide,” Sandalphon said heatedly.

“That’s true, but surely you must think of Heaven’s interests when you make this decision,” Gabriel said, and Crowley could see Aziraphale’s confidence waver a little, but it was so slight she didn’t think the archangels would notice.

“Bring the Metatron here and ask them,” Crowley said quickly, before Gabriel could speak again and cause Aziraphale to give in.

“You have no right to speak in this chamber, demon,” Michael said, voice deceptively mild, but Crowley remembered how fierce she had been during the War. How many rebelling angels had been destroyed at her hands before they could be cast down.

“She’s right, though,” Uriel said, and Crowley started in surprise. She hadn’t expected Uriel would say anything, much less come down on their side. “The Metatron will know God’s Will in this matter.”

“Fine,” Gabriel said, something almost sulky in his tone and posture, and Crowley couldn’t help the grin that broke across her features. Aziraphale glanced at her, and a small smile graced her lips, too. “We’ll ask the Metatron.”

***

As Gabriel finished speaking, the Metatron appeared in the center of the Great Chamber, and a small, spiteful part of Aziraphale found it funny the way Sandalphon jumped a little in surprise. “WHAT IS YOUR QUESTION?” the Metatron asked, which Aziraphale thought was a little silly, since if the Metatron knew they were needed, they probably knew why, too. But the Metatron had always seemed drawn to the pomp and circumstance of their position, so it wasn’t terribly surprising, either.

“We have questions about the Union God wanted,” Gabriel said. “Who is to decide who the demonic participant will be?”

The Metatron looked confused, which was the most emotion Aziraphale had ever seen on their face. “THE UNION HAS ALREADY BEEN FORMED,” they said, and Aziraphale felt Crowley squeeze her fingers. Aziraphale herself could barely keep still in her excitement; their plan had worked!

“What do you mean, the Union has already been formed?” Gabriel asked, his normally genial façade slipping to reveal something unpleasant underneath.

“I BELIEVE MY STATEMENT WAS CLEAR,” the Metatron said, testily, and Aziraphale almost laughed aloud. “THE UNION WAS FORMED. THE ALMIGHTY IS PLEASED.”

“Well, that’s reassuring,” Aziraphale said, hiding her surprise. She hadn’t expected to get such glowing approval of their actions. “If that’s all, I believe I should return to my post on Earth.”

“Now wait a minute,” Gabriel said. “How was this Union formed without our knowledge?”

The Metatron turned and looked directly at Aziraphale and Crowley, and Aziraphale felt herself blush. “PHYSICAL CONGRESS,” they said, and Aziraphale heard Crowley cough. She forced herself to maintain eye contact with the Metatron and not look back at the demon standing half a step behind her, but she could feel her blush deepening. Not surprising that God and possibly the Metatron had seen what they’d done, but it was still rather embarrassing.

“I don’t understand,” Gabriel said, but Uriel put a hand on his arm, and she seemed almost on the verge of laughter.

“I’ll explain it to you later, Messenger,” she said. “Come, it’s decided. Allow the Principality to return to her work.”

Gabriel sputtered, but allowed Uriel to lead him away, and the other archangels followed, until Aziraphale and Crowley were alone with the Metatron. “She really does approve?” Aziraphale asked, letting her concern show now that they’d won and the archangels couldn’t see them.

“YES,” the Metatron said. They turned to Crowley, their multicolor eyes unreadable. “SHE IS GLAD TWO OF HER FAVORITES FOUND EACH OTHER IN THIS WAY.” Crowley made an incomprehensible sound almost like a cough, and Aziraphale turned to her to make sure she was alright, and when she turned back, the Metatron was gone.

“That’s...interesting,” Aziraphale said, not sure what to make of that at all.

“Yeah,” Crowley said, voice a little strangled. “Let’s get out of here, angel, all this holiness is giving me the creeps.”

Aziraphale smiled brightly, feeling like a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. “Of course, my darling,” she said, tugging Crowley toward the doorway that had appeared when the archangels had left the chamber. “I have a small  _ domus _ in Rome. How would you feel about heading there?”

“All roads lead to Rome,” Crowley agreed smiling back. “Sounds good to me.”


	3. Epilogue

Crowley and Aziraphale stood on a small hill, overlooking the site where Yeshua ben Yosef and two others were being crucified. Crowley could practically feel the angel wince at every hammer blow, but she knew neither of them would look away; witnessing this was the least they could do, after everything.

“I don’t understand,” Aziraphale said softly, dismay clear in her voice. “I know I’m not consulted on policy decisions, but why was this necessary?” Yeshua’s prayers trailed off into gasps of pain, and Aziraphale’s soft hands curled into fists.

“I rarely understand why our bosses do what they do,” Crowley said, reaching out to touch Aziraphale’s nearest fist. “Not even Her. Especially not Her.”

Aziraphale looked up for a moment, and Crowley wondered what she was seeing: the clouds above them, or Heaven, maybe, or possibly a mental image of God, from when She still appeared to Her angels. “I thought there was supposed to be peace, now,” she said, loosening her fist just enough to grip Crowley’s hand tightly.

“Peace between Above and Below doesn’t mean peace among the humans,” Crowley pointed out, and Aziraphale nodded miserably. “Free Will is a sword that cuts both ways.”

“I wouldn’t have thought that ‘be kind to each other’ would be this controversial,” Aziraphale said, and Crowley shrugged. She squinted behind her veil and gestured slightly, and Yeshua’s cries died out as he passed into unconsciousness. “Thank you, my dear.”

“I just didn’t want to hear it anymore,” Crowley countered, though they both knew that wasn’t true. They stood in silence as the soldiers finished their gristly work, until the gawkers had gone and only the most loyal followers remained.

“I do wonder sometimes…” Aziraphale began, and Crowley looked at her when she trailed off.

“About ineffability?”

“Something like that.” She watched as Yeshua’s disciples tried to comfort him the best they could.

“Those sorts of questions never worked out well for me,” Crowley said, and Aziraphale turned back to her with an apologetic frown. She must have seen something beneath Crowley’s flippant façade, because she wrapped the demon up in a tight hug; Crowley would never admit it to anyone but herself -- and maybe Aziraphale -- but being enveloped in the angel’s warm, often perfumed embrace was sometimes the only place she felt safe. They stayed that way for a long time, two figures that blended into one, standing a ways off from the grisly scene around the base of the wooden crosses. “They’ll tell stories about this day,” Crowley added eventually.

“Yes, I’m sure they will,” Aziraphale said. “Hopefully they’ll learn something from it.”

Crowley didn’t have to ask who ‘they’ were. “Yes, hopefully,” she said. “Stories can be powerful.”

Aziraphale smiled slightly, pressing her forehead to Crowley’s shoulder. “Yes, they can.”

**Author's Note:**

> Crowley's stories:  
> \-- [Lu-San, Daughter of Heaven](https://fairytalez.com/lu-san-daughter-heaven/) (China)  
> \-- [The Gold-Giving Serpent](https://www.worldoftales.com/Asian_folktales/Indian_folktale_15.html) (India)  
> \-- Anansi and Turtle (Ghana)
> 
>  _Zhongguo_ is an ancient name for China.
> 
>  _Mulsum_ is a mead-like drink from Ancient Rome, made with spices and honeyed wine, and had with breakfast.
> 
> Yes, I _was_ paraphrasing _The Princess Bride_.
> 
> [reblog link](https://melayneseahawk.tumblr.com/post/633479790509293568/in-order-to-live-melayneseahawk-good-omens)
> 
> Find me on [tumblr](https://melayneseahawk.tumblr.com/)!


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